)9J 



INNKEEPER OF ARBEVILLE 

OR, THE OSTLSR AND THE ROBBER: 

A DRAMA, 

I\ TWO ACTS, 

BY EDWARD FITZ-BALL, ESa 

Author of The riUn, The Fio'itinir Bencov, ThrDrriVs Elixir 
TJie Flying Butckman, Tlic Iiichcape Belt, S,x. 



PRINTED FROM THE ACTING COPY, WITH n E^ 
MARKS, BlOGRAPniCAL AND CRITICAL, BY D-G. 

To which are added, 

A DESCillPTrON OF THE COSTUME, CAST OF THE Cft ' RAC- 

TEnS, ENTRAx\CES AND EXITS. RELATIVE POSITIONS 

OF THE PERFORMERS OS THE STAGE.— AND THE 
V/HOLE Ol- THE STAGE BUSINESS. 

As now performed at t!ie 

PARK THEATRE. 



R. HOBBS PUBLISHER. 
1831 



REMARKS. 



THE IXXKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE, 

It is surprising with what complacency we sit and see 
a murder committed — how coolly we become accessories 
both before and after the act, " Leave thy damnable 
faces, and begin!''' we involuntarily exclaim, when the 
levelled pistol and drawn dagger indicate a deed of 
dreadful note, which, if dexterously done, how heartily 
we applaud! If it ever be our fate to melodramatize, 
("^ to what base uses may we not return, Horatio?") the 
public may anticipate a rich feast of amusement in this 
way. Our scale of theatrical homicides is regularly 
laid down ; and it shall go hard if one of the dramatis 
personae outlive the scene, the author being resolved to 
reserve to himse/f the sole benefit of survivorship. 

Baron Idenderg and his sister, the Lady Emma, being 
on their way to Abbeville, stop at an inn, the Henri 
Q^uarlre, kept by Clauson, a veteran soldier, Ozzrand, 
an orphan boy in the service of Clauson. having been 
betrayed into evil courses by Dyrkile, a pilfering vaga- 
bond, who inherits the nimbleness of his fingers from his 
deceased grandmother, has entered into a plot to carry 
off the plate of his benefactor that very night, and share 
the spoil with his tempter. Dyrkile, in his rambles, 
seeing Charles (a young villager who is about to wed 
Louise, the daughter of Clauson) conducting two stran- 
gers, richly dressed, through the forest to the inn, per- 
suades his young protese to kill two birds with one stone, 
and rob the travellers into the bargain. Afier some he- 
sitation, Ozzrand consents : he enters at midnight the 
chamber where the baron reposes, seizes his sword, and 
i=: about to purloin a silver cnp from the c ihiriet, when 
Idenbersr, vviio had been between waking and sleeping, 
starts up, and seizes the robber. Dyrkile ruslies for- 
ward to the rescue of his accomplice, stabs the baron, 
wipes the bloody dagger on a cloak belonging to Clau- 
son, and effects his escape. Day breaks, and Louisa 
enters, to prepare coffee for tlie baroa — she recounts the 
violence of the late storm — 

' = 1 heard the owls screari!, and the crickets cry." 



4 REMARKS. 

The whole house had been fall of horrible imaginings. A 
scream is heard ; tlie Lady Emma rushes in, pale and 
tremblino-, and proclaims her brother murdered! At 
this monTent, the Marquis Romano arrives at the inn, ac- 
companied by Zyrtillo, the barons servant, \n\\o had 
been sent forward to apprise him of the cause of his mas- 
ter's delay. The dreadful story is revealed : suspicion 
fixes on Ciauson — his cloak stained with blood — his very 
dffu-o-er, too, the instrument employed by the assassin! 
He is borne off to prison, and tortured, to make him con- 
fess. The latter expedient has its efrect. Curl was 
wont to remark, that his traiislu/ors, in a hungry fit, 
would swear that they knew all the languages in Chris- 
tendom. In like manner, the poor innkeeper, when put 
to the rack {punch, says the medeciyi malgre lui. is a ca- 
pital thino- to make people talk !^) becomes loquacious, 
and confesses himself the murderer. He is condemned 
to die, and, as an act of grace^ the death of a soldier. 
Tiie word '' fire !" is given, when Dyrkile, most oppor- 
tunely, interposes himself between the soldiers and their 
intended victim, and is shot. 

We might detail the more minute parts of this drama 
— describe the loves of Charles and Louise — the villany 
of Dyrkile— the remorse of Ozzrand — with a word or two 
on that coiuical fellow, Zyrtillo, whose logic liardly 
serves liim to distino-uish the difference between two sup- 
pors. and supper for t)co ! We might bestow a paren- 
thesis on the Lady Emma, and her brother, the baron, 
who, after having been (as it would appear) mortally 
wounded, dragged into a barn, and then into a thicket, 
miraculously recovers — 

(" Shall T bear the bodv off?" 
" Ni), I thank you— /'ZZ walk off!") 

and, like Patridge, the almanack-maker, stands bolt up- 
right, and proclaims himself " Ail alive, O!" These, 
and other particulars, might have been discussed with our 
usual critical acumen ; but " brevity is the soul of wit,"— 
which no-body can deny. 

_ The acting at the Surrey Theatre was worthy of the 
piece : and the piece is worthy of its author, Mr. Fitz- 
Eall, whose muse, whether ii floats or ^ics, is, for the 
most part, terribly entertaining, 

[o= D — a 



COSTUME. 

MARaUIS ROMANO.— Blue regimental coat, wiih red cuffs 
and cellar — leailier breeclies— lailiiary boots — spurs — cross buU — 
cocked liat, with small feather — black stock — powdered hair. 

BAROIV IDENBERG.— Blue Huzzar uniform and pelisse, v/ith 
silver iace — red pantaloons — Hessian boots — Huzzar hat — sword 
—belt. 

CLAUSON. — Dark doublet, small cloatlies, and vest, trimmed 
witli blue binding — blue hose — russet shoes — collar — large grey 
mantle, or cloak — baldpaied oriron jiray wig. 

CH.UILES. — Gr-ay and black doublet and pantaloons — hat of 
ditto— coilai—russft bciots. 

OZZRAND — Buff-leather jacket — red breeches— stripped stock- 
ings — flowered waistcoat — loose coloured kerchief — red wig. 

DYRKILE. — Brown doublet, vest, and breeches — blue stock- 
ings — russet shoes — buft' belt — black bat and feather — black wig 
and ringlets— collar, occ. 

ZYRTILLO.— Undress Huz-zar uniform. (Vide Idenberg) 

OFFICER.— Vide the Tvlarquis. 

GUARDS. — Gens d'armerie of France: Blue coats — leather 
breeches — large boots — cocked hats — cross belts — large swords- 

LADY EMMA — LijL'ht blue dress, trimmed with silver lace — 
hat of same, and white ostrich feathi^r — scarf — bracelets, &c. 

LOUISE. — Bine stuff petticoat, with rows of black and red 
binding round the bottom — black body and tabs — white muslin 
French aporn — black ribbon and cross for neck — blue silk stock- 
ings, with red clocks — shoes and buckles — coloured French ker- 
chief on the head. 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 
The Stasre Directiovs are given from personal observations 
during the most recent performances. 

EXITS and ENTRANCES. 

R means Rio-ht ; L. I.cft. ; F. the Flat, nr Sceve ninning across 

the back of the^Stacre ; D. F. Door in Flat ; R. D. hight Door ; 

L. D. I.eft Door; S- E. Second Entrance; U. E- Upper Entrance ; 

C. D. Centre Door. 

RELATIVE POSITIONS. 
R. means Riffht : L. Deft; C Centre; R. C Right of Centre; 
L. C Deft of Centre 

R. RC. C. LC. L. 

%* The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage facing the .Audience 



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I gl^^^l II 
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1 



THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE h— Outside of the Inn of Abbeville, r., with a 
garden and forest in the background — the sign of 
Henri Quartre— fountain, cistern, and various imple- 
ments of husbandry. 

Music. Louise at tht window, r,, Charles below, dis- 
covered. 

Charles. [Looking up at the window. \ Ah, my dear 
Louise! make haste, and come down ; I've brought 
you such a delightful nosegay, almost as beautiful as 
yourself. Here are roses, from which I have divided 
all the thorns ; and here's some fresh hearts'-ease, to 
wear in your bosom. 

Louise. Tm glad you are here. I've such a deal 
to say, Charles. I've bought a new ballad of the old 
blind gipsy- woman — all about love. 

Charles. So much the better ; we'll study it togeth- 
er, before your father's return. 

Louise. Ah ! so we will — I'm coming. 

\She retires from the icindow^ enters, r., and receives 
the nosegay from Charles. 

Enter Clauson, r. u. e. 

Cla. [Advancing to c] Out upon it! together! 
is it for ever thus you seek to entertain yourselves 
rather than my customers ? — Marry, Louise, is it thus 
the old inn of Abbeville welcomes travellers during 
the landlord's absence? — Oh, for shame ! for shame! 

Charles. Indeed, it was all my fault — wasn't it, 
Louise? 

Lou. (r.,) No, it was all mine. [ Turns, and kisses 
Clauson. ] Indeed, father, it was all my fault. 

Cla. [ Laughing ] Ha, ha, ha ! 

Charles. No, it was all mine. I was at home asleep, 
and I thought I heard Louise say 



8 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. (aCT I. 

Louise. There, there, Charles, I'm sure you'd better 
be quiet — my father knows 

Cla. I I oh, I know nothing about it, Louise ; 'tis 
so long since 1 was in love. But I take it, you are, in 
this case, what my old master used to my ota besieged 
fortress. He used to say, that fortress yonder is made 
of loadstone, and somehow will attract us men of pol- 
ished steel. He meant by that, l^ouise, we were men 
of bright parts, not so rusty, perhaps, as honest Charles. 
However, I don't like him the less : many a rough scab- 
bard Avears a sharp swurd inside. [Laughing]bi\^ ha, ha ! 

Louise. Dear father, you are always so merry. 

Charles. [To Clausoii.] Ah I 'tis that makes Louise so 
gloomy and melancholy when you are not at home. In- 
deed, I often discover her in tears; but, when I arrive 
and we begin to talk about the old inn, you, nnu 

Cla. Love, I suppose : isn't tJiat what you intended 
to say .'' 

Charles. [Abashed.] You have, somehow, such a 
guess, like, 

Cla. Well, well, I believe you are a couple of good 
children, and there's an end of the matter. But v.here'a 
Ozzrand .'' not seeing to the horses. 

Louise. He's gone to take a ramble with Dyrkile 
in the forest. They w-ent out together. 

Cla. I wish you would not permit that fellow, Djt- 
kile, to entice Ozzrand so much abroad from his work. 
There's something about Dyrkile 1 don't like — he's 
ever at liberty. As my old commander had it, he 
that's too lazy to handle a musket, must needs be a 
skulker when the skirmish comes. 

Charles. I always understood Dyrkile's grandmoth- 
er bequeathed him 

Cla. What I the nimbieness of her own fingers — the 
pursuit of her own evil practices. 

Louise. Nay, father, don't speak thus of the dead. 

Cla. Louise, if those Avho do ill are to be as well spo- 
ken of when they are dead, as those who do well, 
Where's the rev/ard for departed virtue ? — Besides, 
didnH I detect the Jezebel, not three weeks before her 
end, robbing the red hen of her eggs ^ Didn't I — but 



SCENE I. ] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 9 

IVe said enough, Louise ; Ozziaad must either abandoa 
Dvi-kile or his master. Distant ihundtr. 

'Charles. Then Tm sure it will be the former. 1 know- 
how truly the poor lad loves you. It was but yester- 
day he recounted to me your generosity in taking him, 
orphan that he was, under your kind protection. 

Cla. Well, well ; I promised his father, who, as 
you've often heard me say, was my fellow comrade — he 
fell gloriously by my side— [Dashing away a [ear.] I pro- 
missed to be a friend to his boy ; and it shall be his boy's 
own fault if I am not so. [Thunder. 

Charles. Why, it thunders ! 

Louise. And rains too a little, 

Cla. Well, I declare I thought I felt a drop in my 
eye just novi^, myself; so, so, we shall have a storm pre- 
sently, make the best of your way home, Charles; I 
heard the convent clock strike nine, as I came up the 
hollow way of the forest. Good night. 

[ Exit into the house, r. 

Charles. Good night, Clausen 1 Dear Louise, to-mor- 
row I go to Abbeville— I shall purchase there 

Louise. What? 

Charles. The wedding-ring. We will be married, 
Louise, and then 

Louise. L\ ! Charles, are you really in earnest? 

Charles. [ Kissing her.] by this fond kiss, I am. Good 
night. 

Both. Good night, good night. 

[Music. — Exeunt Louise into the house, r., Charles, L. 
Enter Zyrtillo, sofl.li/, l. s. e., with his finger on his lips^ 
and a cloak on his arm. 

Zyr. So, T suppose I spoil sport here. Well, so long 
as I am safe at the Inn of Abbeville, no matter. I won- 
der, now, how far the Baron and Lady Emma are be- 
hind in tliis storm ; I dare say they've taken refuge iu 
some honest woodman's chimney-corner, where they 
intend to pass the nig'ht. I may as well make myself 
comfortable and happy, as I always like to do. Now 
to summon the landlord with the true air of a man of 
fashion. [Pa/.? on the cloak.] They do say fine feathers 
make fine bird.s. What, ho, host 1 Deuce take this 



10 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE, [aCT I. 

master of mine, he affords me no opportunity for intel- 
lectual amusement Books form no part of my pursuits ; 
'tis impossible : and then there's Chevalier Nimbletoes, 
his lessons, only that I can practise them a little as I 
pass along — they, too, would be quite forgotten. Let 
me recollect. La, ia, la. [ Waltzing. 

Enter Clauson, From the house, n., and runs against 
Zyrlillo., and almost knocks him doivn. 

Cla. (r.) Why, what the deuce — oh, this is some tra- 
velling dancing-master, I suppose. Good evening, 
monsieur — wfelcome to the Inn of Abbeville. 

Zyr. (c) r Dancing about ] La, ia la I can you cut i* 

Cla. Cut ! r Aside.\ Oh, he knows Fve been a soldier. 
Would your honour like to try me with the broad- 
sword ? 

Zyr. How ridiculous ! the broadsword ! psha 1 peo- 
ble cut in different ways now-a-days. 'Tis one thing to 
cut a figure ; another lo cut a reputation ; and another 
to cut with the heels ; of v/hich, but that my heels are 
rather chafed, Td convince you ; and where people talk 
of cutting with the broadsword, some don't care how 
soon they cut the conversation. What accommodation 
does your inn afford ? — Can I have refreshment ? — Have 
you beds for the Baron Idenberg — I must have two. 

Cla. I have two : one I call my red state bed, being 
only for the reception of betlermost gueits. 

Zyr. I bespeak that for myself. 

Cla. [ Jsolicing ZyrtiUo''s cloak, and hewing ] 1 beg 
pardon; you, then, are the J^aron Ideuberg : — sutler 
me, my lord, to conduct you in. 

Zyr. [ drawing himself up.] Vm glad he takes me for 
my master. Khum ! khum ! I'm fearful — Fm fearful 
the poor rece[_)iion you would be able to give — khum ! 
no matter ; I'm a soldier, and can sleep on a rough pil- 
low, in cases of emergency. 

Cla. I also am an old soldier, my lord, and shall be 
proud of the honour you confer. 

Zyr. Don't mention that, my honest fellow ; I shall 
be too happy— khum. 

Cla. Your lordship wishes for two beds .'' 

Zyr. The deuce ! Do I M forgot ; one for myself, and 
one for my honest, faiihful servant, Zyrtillo, whom 1 



SCENE I.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 11 

have just lost sight of. I believe he intends to pass the 
ni^ht in the lorest. 

Cla. If he's any where about these parts, I'll soon dis- 
cover him, my lord. 

Zyr. the devil you will ? 

Cla. Shall I take your lordship's cloak ? 

Zyr. [ jiside.] That would at once discover Zyrtillo. 
[ 7 u Clauso7i.] No, no, I thank you ; my limbs are 
agueish, and must not be exposed to the night air ; It 
might occasion a coolness — a change rather disagreeable. 
( Aside.) Dear me, I did'nt think the character of a great 
man had been half so arduous to sustain. Lead ou. 

Cla, This way. What ho ! Loui«e ! 

(^Exil into the house, r. 

Zyr. Damn that fellow ! he's for all the world like a 
note of interrogation ; he makes me a lord, and then 
wants to know my authority. However, his mistake 
will insure me every attention, and the baron will never 
know any thingof the matter. Egad! I'll keep up the 
joke ; at all events, 'tis better than scrambling through 
the forest, and running the hazard of falling into the 
arms of a bear, as poor old Catharine did. 

SONG.— Zyrtillo, 

Old Catharine had reach'd three score years — 

A scold, in pure virginity ; 
But oft she'd shed unhappy tears, 

And curs'd her star's divinity. 
From sweet fifteen had Catharine pray'd 
She might not live to die a maid. 
Night after night she sigh'd the same — 
Day after day no lover came 
To pining Catharine's aid. 

Oil, poor Catharine ! 

Once, kneeling near her cottage door, 

Still the harsh Fates invoking — 
(To live unwed till sixty-four, 

Is surely most provoking—) 
Up starts the latch, to ease her care ; 
Kate thought young Cupid heard her prayer, 
And, trembling, sweet, in love's alarms, 
Receiv'd, in her extended arms — 
A wandering showman's bear. 

Oh, poor Catharine '. [Exif, L 



t2 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [aCT I. 

SCENE U— The Forest of Abbeville. 
Enter Ideneerg and Emma, r. 

Ide. (r.. c.) My dear Emma, I regret now that I per- 
mitted Zyrtiilo to leave us, in quest of some habitation. 
I fear the poor fellow must have lost his way in the 
forest. Let us hasten our steps. 

Emma. (r. c.) Alas I we must surely have wandered 
considerably from the main ro8,d. Why, it wanted only 
a league to Abberville, an hour since. It is extremely 
darl^ I begin to feel quite alarmed. 

Ide Believe me there's not the least occasion for 
apprehension. I'll look out for some peasant who will 
undertake to guide us. (^Thunder. 

Emma. You heard 

Ide. What? 

Emma. It thunders. Why, why did I permit you to 
send forward the carriage, and join me in this rash ro- 
mantic ramble ? 

Ide. It was only the wind howling amongst the trees. 
Lean on me; compose yourself. 

Emma. Would we were still at Cressy ! I've under- 
stood the way to Abbeville is the resort of banditti. 

( Thunder and lightning. 

Ide. The friendly covering of yonder spreading tree — ^ 
hark ! 

SONG. — Charles, wilhout, l. 

One Midsummer eve, as he gave her a kiss, 

A gay gold ring, and a top knot blue, — 
" Dear Rosa," lie cried, " by Miis token, and this. 
Remember the vows of your lover true." 

Enter Charles, l. 

Ide. (d.) my worthy fellow, can you direct us to the 
nearest habitation, or to Abbeville? 

Charles. Tlie Inn nf Abbeville is within si^ht. Clau- 
son, the landlord, is an honest man, and will not fail to 
offer every accommodation. It is too late to set out for 
Abbeville ; in the morning, I'll conduct you with 
pleasure. 

Ide. Thanks! Now, dearest Emma, let us proceed. 
(Mirsic. — Exeunt^ l. 



SCENE III.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 13 

SCENE III.— Outside of a Mill, near the Inn. 
Eater Ozzraxd, musing, l. 

Ozz. [c] What! robClauson! my benefactor — the 
parent of Louise — the friend of my noble father — for 
takinw me, outcast that I was, into the very bosom of his 
family! No, no, I can't do it! Wretched that I am, 
how have I degraded myself to think of it? I wish I 
had never seen Dyrkile ; he'il not be satisfied till he has 
brought me either to the grave or the scafFoli^ Ah, 
me ! [ Leaning against a tree, r. 

Enter Dyrkile, l. s, i:., observing him. 

Dyr. What the devil's all this skulking about? Rouse 
thee, lad, — rouse, and be a man, — ay, and a rich one, 
too, or I'm mistaiven. [Slapping him on the shoulder. 

Ozz. A rich one! 

Dyr. I've just observed that stripling, Charles, guid- 
ing a couple of strangers, richly dressed, towards the 
inn. Now, could we contrive to rob those wanderers, 
independently of carrying off Clausen's plate 

Ozz. But I've been thinkmg our's is a ^ad life, Dyr- 
kile; and after all, should we be detected 

Dyr. Detected! Psha! Let us but steal enough to 
bribe the judge, and depend on't, there will be no fear 
of execution. Ha, ha, ha ! Come. 
[ Ozzrand marks him with looks of suppressed abhorrence. 
— as he raises his eyes to heaven., Dyrkile forces him off, l. 

SCENE IV.— Interior of the Inn. 

Zyrtillo discovered at supper, at a table, l. c. — Clauson 
altending. 

Zyr. \_Adde.'\ Of all the comforts that ever blessed a 
hungry traveller, surely that of being taken for a ^reat 
manis the best. Here's atteiuion ! here's hospitality! 
To be styled baron does not include a barren tabic, at 
all events. [^To Clauson.] Come, honest Clauson, here's 
your health, and that of your pretty daughter ; [Driiiks.] 
and, egad! here's to your old master, Henri Quartre, 
You must drink that, Clauson. 
B ■ 



14 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT 1. 

Cla. Witli all my heart. Your lordship makes my 
old blood glow again. You are a true soldier, I'll be 
bound ; not like many of our modern nobility, seeming 
one thing and meaning another. Come, so please you, 
here's the old king's health. [ Drinks.] Ue was a good 
master, and 1 was proud to represent him. 

Zyr. Mine is a good master, and I'm proud to repre- 
sent him. 

Cla. When he heard of a glorious action, his heart 
was so full 

Zyr". [Withhismouth full.) Oh, very full, indeed, — 
very full. [Knocki7ig at the door. 

C7a. More guests! Will your lordship excuse?— a 
moment 

Zyr. Oh, certainly, certainly. [ Exit Clauson, v. f.J 
Ha, ha, ha ! [ Sitting his elbows on the table, eating and 
talking.] Nothing hke enjoyment .' 1 do hke enjoyment ; 
for what else do we live ? 

Sing hey, sing ho, sing derry ; 
A wanderer's life is merry. 

Ide. [Without.] What ho, Clauson ! 

[ Zyrtillo sinks back aghast, but, after a pause, comes 
forward. 

Zyr. Bless vis and save us, what is to be done ? May 
I die, if it isn't the baron's own voice ! If he come, and 
discover me at supper, I'm as good as hanged, drawn, 
and quartered. How shall I act? What shall I do? 
Ha ! a lucky thought ! [ Runs and gathers up the supper- 
things, and thrusts them out of the windoio.] There, at 
least, they will prevent some mischief. Now for one of 
my most innocentest-looking faces — one of my most in- 
teresting attitudes. 

[Draws a chair towards the fire, r., and, throwing off the 
cloak, binds up his head with the table cloth. 

Enter Clauson, Idenberg, Emma, and Charles, d. f. 

Cla. St. Mary! but there must be some mistake ; this 
new guest must be an impostor. Why, the Baron Iden- 
bere is here already. 

Ide. What mockery is it you mention ? the Baron 
Jdenberghere? 



SCENE IV.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 15 

Cla. [Looking around.} Or Beelzebub in his shape. 
But he seems to have taken his flight, and the supper- 
things with him. 

Zyr. O — h! [Rockivg himself. 

Cla. Who have we here? How's this? 

Lie. Zyrt.llo? 

Zyr. [ Rising.] That voice ! My honoured master ! 

Cla. Amazement! yes, 'lis the same voice. What 
the deuce is become of the supper-things? 

Ide. How is it, after discovering this inn, you retur- 
ned not to apprise us? 

Zyr. My lord, I have but within these five minutes 
escaped the thicket ; and just before I reached this inn, 
I received such a bump, such a confusion on my fore- 
head, that when I entered 

Cla You were quite another person. 

Zyr. To be sure I was. You hear that my lord ? 

Ide. It seems, then, that you are wonderfully recover- 
ed. 'Tis well. Did you recollect my orders ? 

Zyr. I ordered two beds, my lord. 

Cla. [ /» ZrjrtiUo''s ear.] And did his lordship desire 
you'd ord'^r two suppers? 

Zyr. [ToHching Clnuson with his elbow.] to be sure — 
certainly — that is to sriy, supper for two. 'Tis done, 
my lord, [visile to Clauson.] Clausen, the fault was 
yours: if you bretray me, I'm a lost lamb, [ To Jdenberg.] 
All is as your lordship commanded. Clauson, why do 
you stand yaping there ? V/ine and refreshment for 
the Baron Idenber^I 

Cla. Why, you consumate, impudent — I'm half re- 
solved to 

Zyr. [To Clauson^ inl re alingly.] If ever you did a 
foolish thiijg — if ever y;ju said a wise one — that is, psha! 
by these looks of contrition and supplication — by these 
shoulders, which have a natural antipathy to castiga- 

tion. 

Cla. Truly, your shoulders do carry some weight. 
Ha, ha ! well, well, I remember you'd honour enough 
to drink the king's health, and so I won't report you. 

Zyr. My dear fellow 1 when we are alone, I'll drink 
as many healths as you please. I hope the royal 
family is numerous. [ClaJison sets wine on the tukle. 



16 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [aCT 1. 

Ide. My sister, iMonsieur Clausoa, will retire: her 
fatigue demands repoi^e. 

Cla. My daug-hier shall attend. Louise I 

Enter Louise icilh a lamp, d. f 

Emma. [To Idenherg.^ Since, then, you insist on my 
retiring — and yet I teel so dejected — so melancholy — 

Ide. 'Tis ior that reason I hasten you to rest. Good 
night 1 
[ They embrace — he conducts her to the door — she gazes 

cnfectima'ely upon him, and then, attended by Louise, 

rdires, b. — In reluniin^ to his chair, Idenberg lets: 

fall a rosary — Charles picks it up, and presents it to him. 

Ide. In sooth, her gloom seems to take equally pos- 
session of my mind. Is it true, Clauson, that these 
"woods are frequented by banditti? 

Cla. We hear of such things, my lord. 

lie. And fear no attack on your own property ? 

Cla. We muster pretty strong — the post-lads, the 
ostler, and myself — and seldom without logers. 

Charles. Shall I conduct you to Abbeville in the 
morning, my lord ? 

Lie. By all means, my honest lad. 

Zyr. {To Clauson.'] Since both the beds you mention- 
ed aro bespoke, wliere am I to sleep .'' 

Cla. I'll ask the baron. 

Zyr. Nonsense ! I can rest any where. 

Cla Well, then, the ostler has a truckle-bed, at your 
service ; or there's plenty of clean straw in the out- 
house. 

Zyr. Truckle-bed ! clean straw ! Oh, you infer 

But I must stifle my indignation. Perhaps, as the nights 
are short, for once, Clauson, 3-ou"ll sit up, by way of 
recreation, and so your bed 

He. Zyrtillo! 

Zyr. My loid ! 

Ide. You must proceed to the Marquis Romano's to 
night, and inform him of the cause of my delay. 

Zyr. I am so perfectly unacquainted with the road, 
that [rains. 



SC£NE v.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 17 

Cla. ril undertake to furnish you with a guide and 
a horse. Look to it, Charles, The rain comes down a 
little ; but 'tis a poor soldier that can't stand some pelt- 
ing'. Monsieur Baron, ha ! that's the way. Good night. 

Zyr. Curse me, if ever I met with such an officious 
old tool before, in all my life. [To Idenherg.\ I fly to ex- 
ecute your lordship's commands. 

[Exit with Charles, d. f. 

Ide. You mentioned horses and post-boys : you, then, 
can accommodate me with a conveyance to Abbeville 
the mornmg .'' 

Cla. Certainly, my lord. Ho, Ozzrand ! 

Eiiler Ozzrand, l. 

Cla. A chase for Abbeville, in the morning. My 
lord wishes to rise early. He sleeps in the red bed, re- 
member. 

Osz. [As he goes out] Alas ! I must remember. 

[Exit, L. 

Jde. Clauson, you'll inform the youth who conduct- 
ed me hither, ot this arrangement. Now, conduct me 
to my chamber. 

Cla. Directly — this way. 

[Exeunt, Claxison hearing the light l. s. e. 

SCENK V. — A Bed-chamber in the Inn — Idenberg 
discovered asleep on the bed, c. f. — a door in flat, r. 
— an anliq'it Cabinet, l. 

Enter Ozzrand, loith a darJc lantern, r. d f-, hesitating 
and affected — he approaches Idenberg. — Music. 

Ozz. How's this ? asleep, and not undressed ! his 
sword still in his possession 1 unfortunate ! — Yonder 
stands the cabinet. Could I now be assured that the 
Baron would not awake, it would be no difficult matter 
to secure Cla uson's plate. [Going up to Idenberg, and 
speaking in a high but subdued tojie.] Ho, my lord I 'tis 
almost daybreak. He hears me not — he sleeps pro 
foundly. Ah, me ! when shall I sleep so ? I must not 
think thus. 

B 2 



18 TSLE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT II. 

(Approaches thr, cab.n t, l — \iusic — Idtnberg observes 
him with aUsniion — the sword fads from the bed Oz- 
zrand starts — Idtnberg feigns to slap. 

Ozz. 'Tis almost daybreak, my lord. So, so, 
'twas but the swcnl. 'Tis well. O — h ! 
{Deadpauae — Ozzravd takts up the sword, with a de- 
gree of exnltution, and returns to the cabinet, from 
which he purlonis a sHver cup — Idenber^ rises from hi^ 
hed^ rushes forward, and arrests his arm 
Ide. Traitor! what means this secret outrage ? 

[ They slrugglt — Idtnberg gains the sword. 

Enter Dyrkile ahrvphj, r. d. p., snatches it from hinh 
and forces him on one knee — he gives Ozzrand the suord, 
and presents a dagger to the Barons breast — Picture — 
Music. ^ 

end of act i. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I.— The Interior of the Tnn. 

Ozzrand discovered, making fast the door — a lamp bund- 
ing on a table, l. — Music. 

Ozz. Would I could shut out the recollection of this 
dreadful business, as I thus shut out the enemy of my 
peace! Oh, Dyrkile, Dyrki!e ! why have I sworn to you 
never to disclose this fatal secret? Or u hy did I ever 
consent to become the associate of an assassin? Thank 
Heaven, it was his dagaer, not mine, that did the deed; 
although this blood upon my hands is Idenberg's. Ah ! 
I heard a footstep — the footstep of Louise. Dear Louise ! 
innocent cause of ii 11 my misery ! had not my love for 
you been hopeless, perhaps — she comes. I must to 
bed — else, at the morning outcry, I shall not seem 
nnocent. [Music. — Eocil, l. 

Dyr. [Drawing back the window-curtain andlooking 
in.] So, all seems quiet. I may enter now. 'Tis well 



SCENE I.J THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 19 

I thouffht of making- Ozzrand swear. He's too full 
of religion to break his vow. 

Enter Dyrkile, c. f., from the window. 

Now, to smear old Clauson's cloak with blood : I saw it, 
as we carried out Ideuberg's body. {Wipes his daager 
mi a cloak, tchich hangs on the settle.] There, that will 
fix suspicion. Sure, this is Ciausons dagger. [Taking 
up a dagger.'] A lucky thought ! Til lay it on Idenberg's 
bed. Ozzrand knows nothing' of this. 

\_Exit at the window., c. f. 

3i^nter Louise, hearing a lamp — she places it on the table., 
after extinguishing the one already burning., r. d. f. 

Louise. Heigho ! methought last night the wind would 
liave shattered the very rafters of the inn. The owl 
•screamed in the cliimney-top, and tlie crickets did no- 
thing but cry. Methought, Charles knelt at my feet, 
pale and disconsolate. Heaven grant he has reached 
•his home in safety. 

Re-enter Dyrkile, l. 

Dyr. Louise here I what's to be done ? — Ha ! 

{Goes softly to l/ie table and extinguishes the light. 
Louise. The lamp gone out! and 1 have extinguished 
the other. What am I to do? — My father burns a light 
in his chamber. Where did I place the lamp? 

TMusic. — She searches for the lamp — Dyrkile stoops by 
the table — she unconsciously pursues Jiim round it., 
and. finding the lamp, she comes forward, while Dyr- 
kile hides under the table. 
Louise, First, I'll undraw the "curtain. Yet, stay, 
there's coffee to provide for the baron's breakfast ; and 
the fire must be kindled. {Exit, R. 

Dyr. {Advancing to the window.'] I've effected the evi- 
dence, however. — I must not leave Ozzrand to himself: 
his fears require a sentinel. \_Exit at tlie window, c. f. 



20 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [acT TI. 



Knter Clauson and Louise, r. — Clauson puts on the 
cloak. 

Cla. Bat your's is a sad face, considering Charles is 
to purchase the wedding-ring to-day. As my old gene- 
ral used to say, folks don't wear long faces that have 
won a victory. But how slept your lady guest last 
night ? 

Louise. In sooth, but ill. I left her preparing to seek 
the apartment of her brother, in order to summon him 
from repose. Her dreams were full of horror — she cried 
out once in her sleep — I awoke, and was so agitated. 

Cla. {Adjusting his cloak.'] Psha, child ! there's nothing 
in dreams. [_A scream is heard without. 

Louise. Ah ! what's that? 

Cla. Something must have happened. 

Enter Emma, j^aZe and trembling, hastily, L. 

Emma. My brother ! oh, my brother ! 
Cla. Lady ! 

Emma. I saw the blood streaming on the floor. — He 
is not there — they have murdered him. 



Cla. ) 

^ ( 

Louise. ) 



Murdered ! 



Cla. Murder committed in my house, without alarm I 

impossible ! [Hurries off, r. 

Emma. [Sinking into a chair.'] Too, too possible I 

Louise. [Assisting Emma — pursues Clauson with her 

eyes.] Yes, he ruturns — his cheek is deadly pale — his 

knees smite each other in terror. Father ! 

Re-enter Clauson, r. d. f. 

Cla. Basely, cruelly robbed ! The old cabinet, in 
which I deposited tlie little earnings of many years' 
hard service — all, all gone 1 

Louise. And the stranger ! 

Cla. Gone, too. There are, indeed, marks of blood 
upon the floor. I'm unfortunate the baron should have 



SCENE I.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 21 



slept here last niglit. Ha! the unposition of his ser- 
vant. Sure, this was the baron. 

Louise. You apprehend 

Emma. Cruel man ! what means this dark inference? 
Give me back my brother — at your hands I demand 
him. 

Cla. My hands! frantic words! I slew him not. 
Help ! Ozzrand ! ho ! the inn has been robbed ! murder 
has been committed. [^Knocking.'] Somebody knocks. 
[Claason goes to open the door., Louise hold his arm. 

Louise. The assassins will rush in and destroy us. 

[Knocking continued. 

Cla. What's to be done 1 

Voice without. Unbolt the door to the Marquis Ro- 
mano. 

Emma. Romano ! thank heaven ! 

Enter Romano and Zyrtillo, r. d. f. — Emma rushes 
towards Romano. 

Rom. Emma, this wild confusion ! 

Emma. Alas ! v.'e have been betrayed into the hands 
of banditti — Ideriberg's murdered. 

Rom. Murdered ! by whomP — Clauson, why wasyour 
door so long fastened .■" — Conduct me to the baron. 

Cla. My lord, the stanger who slept here last night 
has disappeared. His chamber is stained with blood, for 
which heaven can best account. 

Rom. Think you 'tis Idenberg's blood .' 

Emma. Yes, yes ; his gold, his jewels, have destroyed 
him. I heard groans in the night — I started from my 
pillow, and would have quitted it; but Louise, the 
daughter of Clauson, pursuaded me I did but dream. 

Rom. Zyrtillo, search the chamber. There seems a 
mystery about this. [Exit Zyrtillo., l. s. e.] Why sliould 
Louise imagine it only a dream.'' — Heard you nothing, 
Clauson.' 

Cla. On my soul, nothing. 

s. E. — Ozzrand, 

Zyr. (r.) T found this on the floor, my lord. Wliy, 
Clauson, this very dagger was in your girdle last nighl. 



22 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT 11. 

Cla. (r. c.) Mine ! 

Qzs. His girdle ! impossible \ 

Rom. Why impossibie ? 

Osz. \_Much embarrassed.'] Because — my master never 
fails to place his poiiiard by liis bedside. 

Rom. (l.) The more sinffular it should be discovered 
in that chamber. 'Tis your's, Clauson. 

Louise. IWith uild terror.'] No, no, no ; 'tis not my fa- 
ther's dao-ger. 

Cla. iPrmidly.] Yes, it is my dagger ; Til not deny it. 
[Music. — Pause of consiernaiion and surprise. 

Zyr. Do but observe, there are spots of blood upon 
his cloak. 

Oss. On his cloak ! 

Emma. Y{oTror\ 

Rom. [to Clauson.] Account for this. 

Cla. It bewilders me — I cannot. 

Rom. You are not ignorant of my duty as an officer. 
These are dark circumstances. What boy is that.-* 

[Pointing to Ozzrand. 

Cla. A simple, honest lad— an orphan. 

Rom. He slept here last night? 

Cla. He sleeps here every night. He has no other 
liome. 

Rom. [to Ozsrand.] Heard you no alarm ? 

Osz. [Much agitated.] I was so fatigued ere I sought 
repose — besides, the night was so rough — so stormy. 

Rom. Cianson, till this business can be cleared up, 
you must submit yourself to become my prisoner. [7b 
Ozzrand] You must also follow. 

Louise. [Sinking at Romanovs feef.] Mercy ! mercy i 
[Music. — Exeunt Clauson., Zyrtillo, Emma, and Ro- 
mano, ■&.. followed by Louise, kneeling. 

Ozz. [Recovering from torpor.] 'Tis her voice ! she calls 
for mercy ; but they have flinty hearts. Ill follow, and 
save her father, that she may bless me. [Going., R.] Ho ! 
my lor 

Enter Dyrkile, d. f., meeting him abruptly. 

Dyr. Stay; there will be time enough to save Clau- 
Bon. We must remove the body from the barn into the 
thicket, or all will be discovered. 



SCENE II.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 23 

Ozz. You'll save Clauson ? 

Dyr. Doubt not but I will. Follow. 

Ozz. On that assurance, T consent. 

Dyr. Let us away, or they'll return and arrest you— 
you heard what the man of power said. They grappled 
with us with an iron grasp, yet marvel that we wish for 
strength. iExeunt, l. 

SCENE II.— The Wood of Abbeville. 
Enter Charles, r. 

Char. How anxious, yet how delightful, are the 
cares of love! they have summoned me from my bed 
ere the sun himself is up. Dearest Louise ! I come 
once more beneath your window, to wake you with the 
song of affection. To-morrow, you will be mine for 
ever. 

Dyr. [Without.'] Ha, ha, ha ! 

Char. That voice, at this unusual hour, seems terri- 
ble to my ear. Should it be any of the banditti, un- 
armed as I am, to rush forward will be madness — to 
fly, cowardice. They draw nearer. I'll conceal myself 
in the hollow of yon cork tree, and observe what passes. 

[Climbs the tree. 

Enter Dyrkile, l. u. e. 

Dyr. There, he's secure now : but Ozzrand's heart is 
so tender — this remorse he speaks of, is unbearable. 

Char. Ozzrand ! gracious powers ! 

Dyr. Why, Ozzrand, I say ! — What the devil is the 
fellow about ? — You may leave the stranger — he'll not 
run away, ha, ha, ha I 

Enter Ozzrand, l. u. E.^tpale and haggard, with Idenberg''s 
bloody scarf in his hand. 

Ozz. Where shall I conceal myself from the form of 
my victim? — He pursues me — he is constantly present 
to my sight. [Covering his eyes with his hands. — Music. 

Dyr. Why, how now, Ozzrand ? are you not ashamed 
of this.? 



24 THE INNKEEPES. OF ABBEVILLE [aCT II, 

Osz. Heaven knows I am. 

Dijr. Psha I why bring away tliat scarf? — Take it 
back. 

Ozs. Take it back ! I take it back ! what, to behold 
once more that bleeding corse ? — Sooner would I en-' 
counter a host of fiends, in vengeanc3 armed against 
me. Why did I mix my hand ia this deed I monster 
that I am ! 

Dyr. Is this your boasted valour? — V/hy, man, the 
stranger's dead — as weVe thrown him in that ditch, and 
covered him over with branches, nobody will find him ; 
and if they do find him — Fra glad, loo, I contrived to 
stain old Clauson's doublet. 

Oss. You contrived it — you ? 

Dyr. Give me the scarf; let me conceal it. [Snatches 
the scarf ferociously^ and hides il in the branches^ r. u. e.] 
Come, be a man ; we have gold to procure us every sa- 
tisfaction. 

Ozz. [ With inte?ise remorse.'] Not the satisfaction of a 
clear and upriofht conscience. 

Z)j/r. Conscience ! stuff! the rich villain's cant to hang 
us with. 

Ozz. But Clauson ! he must be saved. 

Di/r. I'll invent the means. At present, 'tis neces-^ 
sary we conceal ourselves. 

Ozz. If, indeed, there be an eye that sees all things^r. 
an ear tliat hears the dying cry of the assassin's victim, 
we must be lost. [Exeunt., u. 

Char. [Coming forward.'] Somebody is certainly mur- 
dered, and concealed in yonder ditch. Should I be ob- 
served searching for the body, I might be apprehended. 
Ha! the scarf! that may lead to detection. [Snatches out 
the scarf — discovers Idenberg\<i rosary a Itaclicd.] The very 
cross 1 picked up last night at the inn ! This excites 
new interest. TU fly to Clauson. Yet, stay — if, by 
any chance, the wounded man should not be dead. It 
was this way — ha! [Music. 

Enter Idenberg, jiale and ivoundcd.from the back. 

Ide. The pure air, and the water, as it rippled over 
my brow, have restored me, only to die a second death, 
I bleed afresh — support me. 



SCENE III.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 25 

Char. Thank heaven for this ! lean on my arm ; 
there's a woodman's hut at no considerable distance. 
Could you but reach it 

Ide. Impossible I I faint again! help me, mighty 
power ! Oh ! 

[Music. — He sinks — Charles hieels over him^ and holds 
up the rosary, with a look of supplication. 

SCENE III.— Garden and Piazza of the Chateau 
Romano. 

Enter Emma, r., meeting Romano, l. 

Emma, (c.) I fear to ask the state of your prisoner. 

Rom. (l. c.) This compassion, Emma, is a mistaken 
one. You will shudder at the information that Clauson 
confesses himself to be the assassin of your brother. 
t- Emma. Alas ! what was his cruel motive ? 

Rom. Avarice, doubtless. But you shall hear all I 
know. My duty compelled me to place Clauson on the 
rack : it is an office at which rny heart revolts — but he 
was obstinate, and Idenberg's blood cried for atonement. 
First, he denied all knowledge of the deed, but suddenly 
at length cried out, in the anguish of pain, " I am the 
murderer !" 

Emma. Oh, my lord ! may not deep suffering some- 
times extort from innocent hearts the things that are 
not? 

Rom. Dearest Emma, there is a virtue in not having 
too much tenderness. 'Tis a failing that would turn 
aside the barb of justice, and eventually leave vacant 
the seat of rectitude. 

Emma. God grant this reasoning prove not false; for 
though r would not have the destroyer of my brother 
escape punishment, better that than this man suffer 
wrongfully. Has he told where the body lies concealed ? 

i^om. Not yet; but 1 have despatched Zyrtillo, with 
several attendants, to search the forest. The criminal 
comes, on his way to execution. 

Emma. Execution ! is it the law ? 

Rom. What else should follow the confession of a 
murderer? 



28 THE INNKEEPER or ABBEVrLLE. [aCT It, 

Emma. Let me not see him, guilty as he is. [Going.'] 
Ha I his daughter — their meeting will be dreadful — their 
parting [JVeeps, and returns to the chateau.) R. 

Music. — Enter Clauson, guarded., l. — he walks up, in 
mdancholly silence — Louise meets him., K.^they rush 
into each other^s arms. 

Cla. My cliild ! my Louise I 

Louise. My father ! my poor father ! 

Cla. Yet, touch me not with your pure innocent lips—* 
I am sunk deep into infamy. Misery has wrung from 
me an odious lie — I have declared myself a murderer. 

Louise. A murderer I you declared yourself a mur- 
derer 1 Believe him not — he raves — he knows not what 
he utters. Father ! sir ! Clauson I surely, he'll recollect 
that name. Look upon me — I am Louise, your daughter. 
\_Kneels.~] Swear that you never did a guilty thing — nev- 
er, never. Swear it in the face of heaven, which knows 
your innocence, or strike me dead at once. 

Cla. [Embracing Louise.'] My limbs were old — I could 
not endure the stretching of their hellish instruments; 
my strength sunk beneath them. I could only hope to 
live a few years, and had better die than suffer such 
agony. Should they ask it, say 1 am guilty — say I am 
dead — or again I shall be tortured. 

Louise. No, no : with the last throb of my existence 
will 1 proclaim your innocence. Cruelty has extorted 
from your aged bosom the confession of an action you 
would have shuddered to commit. Awful destiny I 
what is it you decree us? Father, father I [Fie forces her 
from him — she staggers towards Roma7io^ and sinks at his 
feet — the Procession moves on.] Oh, hear the supplications 
of a wretched daughter. Clauson is innocent 1 Where 
he to suffer, angels themselves would weep over his 
unexampled fate. Stay, father, stay ; I'll shriek so loud, 
the avenging power shall hear. He's innocent! inno- 
cent! 

[Music. — Exeunt Procession and Clatison — Louise^ 
with a wild emotion^ endeavours to follow, but, after 
a gaze of agony., sinks motionless into Romano'' s amts. 



SCENE IV.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. St 

SCENE IV. — Romantic Pass and Entrance to a CaverTu. 
Enter Zyrtillo, l. — Thunder. 

Zyr. So, here's pretty treatment for a gentleman of 
my condition. Not content, not content to send me up 
and down tliis infernal wood all night, but I must wan- 
der in it all day, by way of discovering the comparative 
beauties of light and shade. I search in vain for the 
body of my poor master ; though he's nobody now, as a 
body might say. How did I contrive to lose my com- 
panions? It makes me so gloomy to be alone. Egad! 
I'm glad I thought of my spiritual comforter. [Takes out 
aJidskJ] I fear I shall loose my place, after all \ and even 
a great man can't give up his place without something 
of regret. St. S within, how it begins to rain ! TU just 
step into this forest parlour ; and, if I encounter a civil 
landlord, lie shall try this. [Holding up thejiask.'] If an 
uncivil one, by my valour, but he shall try this. 

[Draws his sword, and goes into the cave, r. — Storm in' 
creases. 

Enter Ozzrand and Dyrkile, l. 

Ozs. (l. c.) Heaven itself pursues our guilty steps. 

Dyr. (c.) Stuff I 'tis only a little thunder. It doesn't 
corncern me half so much as the idea of the body of the 
man we murdered being gone. I hope you stabbed him 
to the heart ? 

Osz. [Jlside.} If Heaven hear my prayer, I did not. 
I confess, when you thought he was not dead, and urged 
me to strike, I scarcely felt the weapon. 

Dji/r. The more fool I to trust you. 

Osz, [c^sirft.] What a fool have I been to trust you. 

Dyr. Then, to lose that valuable rosary ; but that I've 
stayed to search for it, we should have been far enough 
off by this time, and out of all danger. 

Osz. Should it be found in the wood, perhaps it may. 
in some way, remove the suspicion from poor Clauson. 

Dyr. Psha ', he's condemned by this time. 

Osz. Condemned ? 



28 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT II. 

Dijr. Ay ; and serve him right, to be sure, since he 
was fool enough to confess a murder lie never committed. 
What matters who suffers, so we escape? 

Ozz. Villain ! 

Dyr. Ah ! 

Ozz. Like the serpent, you have lured me from the 
way in which I was happy — ah, how happy I and now 
you would teach me to exult, while the only friend I ever 
had sinks, for me, into an untimely, shameful grave. 

Dyr. Canting coward ! Is this a recompense for what 
I've made you? 

Ozz. Made me! What, indeed, have you made me? 
Take back the wages of infamy. [Throws doivn a purse.'] 
Would I could trample as readily on my vices. But I 
will make atonement, I'll fly to the feet of justice 

Dyr. And betray me, I suppose. 

Ozz. No, not betray you. 

Dyr. [Presenting a pistol.'] If I thought it 

Ozz. Would you had courage or virtue enough to ter- 
minate the mysery you have wrought. 

Dyr. Don't provoke me, or 

Ozz. Oh, wretch, wretch I 

Dyr. [Shoots him.] Damned, paltry 

Ozz. Oh. you have done me the kindest act — 'twill 
end my sufferings. 

Dyr. Hark ! — I heard a footstep ! we are pursued — 
let us begone. 

Ozz. I cannot. Oh ! [Falls. 

Dyr. [Going, then returning.] If I leave him, he'll be- 
tray me. Come, come, we'll be better friends. Ha, 
the cave ! [Music. — He supports Ozzrand into the cave. 



SCENE V. — Interior of the Cave., entered by steps cut in 
the Rock, R. — Ridges of broken rocks, L. — .^ wide cre- 
vice through the back. l. — Several fragments of wood scat- 
tered about. 

Zyrtillo discovered, seated on one of the ridges, l. 

Zyr. Well, now, this is dry and warm ; and, egad ! as 
I had no sleep last night, I don't see why I shouldn't 



SCENE v.] THE INNKEEPER OE ABBEVILLE. 29 

have a Utile mental recreation of that sort here. I 
should think there's no fear of intruders like those that 
visit old Clauson's red bed : dear me, that's a very disa- 
greeable reflection, and quite startles my unprotected in- 
nocence. However, all seems quiet ; so, up I go. These 
steps are rude, but they conduct to Dame Nature's bed, 
and she's a rude lady. \_Ascends the rock.'] I must confess 
T should prefer a companion of my own composition ia 
this place, even were it no better a one than old red- 
nosed Agatha, the blind porteress at the convent. Yaw, 
yaw ! [Reclines on the rock, then gets up again.] First, for 
fear of interruption, rest you there. [Places his sword.} 
And, for fear of thieves, rest you there. 

[Drinks, and empties the flask. 

Ozs. [WithoiM.] Fly, Dyrkile ! Leave me to perish. 

Z>j/r. [Without.'] Silence ! You'll be overheard. 

[They are seen passing the crevice. 

Zyr. [Rising.] So soon intruded upon ! These fellows 
are cut-throats, by the nature of their habitations. A 
pretty babe in the wood I'm likely to prove. I'll recon- 
noitre a little, and retreat, should the enemy prove too 
powerful, and my valour permit. 

[Music. — Conceals himself behind one of the ridges, R. 

Enter DxRKiLK^from the opening in the rock,t.., support" 

ing OZZRAND. 

Dijr. There, sit you down upon that rock, and pluck 
up your heart a bit, while I look out from the mouth of 
the cave. If anybody think to surprise, damme, but it 
shall be through fire and smoke. 

[Drawing out anotiter pistol, and returning through the 
opening, l. 

Oss. [Seated on a fragment of rock, l.] But, Dyrkile, 
Dyrkile I He's gone, and left me here to die alone — 
unseen, unpitied. Unseen, did I say ? Does not heaven 
see me ;• Unpitied I have I deserved compassion ? Oh, 
Louise, I shall never more behold you I You will live 
virtuously, happily, and never again think of one who 
blesses you with his dying breath. [J] scream heard with- 
<nU^ u] What means that sound ? Would it were over 



30\ THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT II. 



witl\ me, — would I could die at peace. Yet. poor Clau- 
sonI\ Could I but declare his innocence — \_RisingJ] — 
Impossible ! Ha, Louise 1 

Enlir Dyrkile, through ihechasm^ with Louise, insensi- 
I hie, in his arms. 

t)yr. She is in my power 

Qzz. In your power I Awake, Louise, you are safe. 

Louise. Ozzrand's voice ! Defend me ! 

Ozz. Why come you to this melancholy place ? Might 
I — dare 1 hope 

Louise. They are dra2"ging my father to the stake : I 
hurried this way, that I might once more behold him, 
but this man arrested my steps. Surely, you'll preserve 
me. Ah, you bleed — your cheek is pale — Ozzrand ! 

Ozz. Think not of me, Louise, but fly and declare your 
father's innocence : say that the murderer of Idenberg 
is Ozziand's assassin ; my body will prove the truth of 
your assertion. 

Dyr. Ha, ha ! and do you suppose I'll suffer myself 
to be betrayed ? She shall never more quit this den. 

Ozz. What is it you meditate .' Idenberg's murder is 
enough. You are not in danger ; Louise cannot betray 
you. 

Dyr. (€.) She shall not — this dagger 

Ozz. (r.) [Sinking at Dyrkile s feei.] Dyrkile, behold 
me at your feet; my expiring hands are lifted up to you 
for pity. My death, I forgive you ; but spare, oh, spare 
that unoffending innocent. What, cruel monster ! still 
you unbend not those remorseless looks. You shall not 
stain the name of man with such unheard-of enormity. 
Thus, with my last convulsions, I defend her. [Seising 
a brand of aood., and assumirig a posture of defence.} 
Assist me. Heaven 1 

Dyr. You have broken your oath ! Fow call on hea- 
ven? Take the reward of your treachery. Die! 
[Theyjisht — Ozzrand appears gradually more exhausted. 

Zyr. [JVhohas been watching.^ Ha, coward ! would you 
trample on a fallen foe.'' Turn this way. 
i Dyr. A spy ! Take the result of your intrusion. 

[Firing at Zyrtillo, tcho leaps down, and avoids the shot. 




SCENE VI.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVTLt.E. 



Zyr {Coming forward.'] Now, villain, depend on vour 
own dexterity : not an inch will I spare of vou, except 
to hano- on the first tree, to feed the crows with. 

[Music— Ossmno? and ZyrtUlo both encounter Dyrkile 
—Ozzrandis overcom&~Zyrtillo and DijrkUeJighi 

Louise. [Leaning over Ossrajid.] Alas ! you bleed to 
death. 

Osz. Think not of me— fly instantly, and preserve your 
father. Dyrkile was the murderer. Louise, Louise, 1 
loved you— but my humble condition 

Louise. Ozzrand ! 

Ozz. You will not hate me after I'm dead. 

Louise. Oh ! no, no — how can L*" 

Ozz. Bless you, bless you ! Lose not a moment ; you 
have a father to save. You'll ag-ain seek this spot— I 
shall no longer be sensible of your presence. Away, 
away. ^ 

Louise. I go, but FU return. You'll yet live— you'll 
be happy. 

[Music. — He kisses her hand.and motions her wildly to 
leave him.pointing out the -way — exit Louise. i..—as 
she retires, and passes the crevice, Ozzrand climbs up 
the rock to gaze after her — ivhen she disappears en- 
tirely., he falls dead from the eminence. 

SCENE Yl.—Tlie Wood near the Inn. 

Enter Dyrkile hastily, i.., sword in hand. 

Dyr. Confusion ! 'tis in vain I endeavour to elude his 
search. The bloodhound still pursues me. Ha ! mad- 
man, will you still rush upon your death? 

Enter Zyrtillo, i^., following Dyrkile. 

Zyr. So I rid but the world of such a villain as your- 
self,"! care noL Have at you. {They fight off^ r. 



3^ ^-HE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [acT It* 

SCENE yil.-~The Outside of the Inn of Abbeville. 

Enter Clauson, conducted by Soldiers, with fixed bayonets. 
Enter Romano, r. 

Rom. Clauson, you are to look on this punishment as 
^n ordeal, through which only you can do away your 
offence. As an old soldier, 1 allow you a soldier's 
death. 

Cla. Must I then fall ingloriously ? I that have worn 
upon my brow the laurels of my country. What if I 
now deny the assassination? it will now be considered 
madness or despair. Have I not pronounced myself a 
murderer ? For my poor girl's sake, to heaven and earth 
I'll speak out my innocence. Yet, if again they resort 
to the rack, better, better die. 

Rom. Have you nothing to unfold? Will you not 
reveal where you have secreted the body? 

Cla. I concealed it — 1 1 Woe has deprived me of the 
recollection — I cannot answer. 

Rom. Unhappy crimnal ! 

Cla. My lord, one word. 

Rom. Speak freely I ^ 

Cla. [TVilh a burst of ivoe.] My child ! 

Rom. I will protect her. 

Cla. You'll guard her from the snares and calumnies 
*of the world ? 

Rom. With my fortune — my life, 

Cla You'll still direct her in the path of virtue. 
\^liarles IS an honest lad -he loves her— he had my con- 
sent to do so : now, perhaps— heaven must direct that. 

rr"**T n " I serve you further ? 
hJ^i'^^A^L^^ ^'""'^'^ ^^® ^^^* prayers of her broken- 
hearted father were for her. Give her this portrait-'tis 
that of rny brave o^d general : he gave it me as a token 
of approbation. How am I fallen ! The last words of 
.^hf^of-l^y otpt^.^ ^'^ epUaph-mine will be the 

Louise [«^^i/Ao«/.] Stay— mercy-^tay ! 



SCENE VII. J THE INNKEEPER OP AbI?F,VILLe/ ' 23 



Louise. [Rushing in, r.] He is innocent! he is not the 
murderer I Ozzrand — Dyrkile. Ha, ha, ha ! 

[Swoons at Clauson'sfeety R. 

Rom. Take her hence — her delirium but increases the 
distraction of his last moments. 

[Louise is svpported oJT, r. — Clauson is led to the stake, 
R. u. E., and his eyes are bound. 

Rom. [After a momcnlari/ parcse.'] Dreadful task 1 'tis 
mine to endure it. Now, tlien, Clauson, prepare ! — • 
May heaven forgive your offence. Prepare ! [The Sol- 
diers present their muskets — Dyrkile and Zyrtillo are 
heard Jigh ting without. R. — offer an effort to overcome his 
fcetings.] I pronounce the sentence — fire I [Dyrkile rushes 
in R. u. E., with his back to the soldiers., and., interposes be- 
tween them and Clauson., he is shot — he staggers a few 
paces., falls upon his face, and dies.^ Horror I you've slain 
an innocent man I 

Enter Zyrtillo, r. u. e., hastily, with his sword drawn. 

Zyr. The villain has only fallen in his own snare. 
Clauson is innocent — Idenberg lives — he comes. 

Enter Idenberg and Charles, r. 

Rom. My friend alive ? 

Jde. Yes'; it is your friend Idenberg. What do I see? 
the assassin already punislied ! 

Char, [releasing Clauson.^ Clauson is saved ? 

Enter Louise, r., and sinks upon herfathe/s breast. 

Louise. What is it I hear ! — Father, dear father ! 
Cla. My daughter! Charles! and am I again restored 
to life and happiness? Let us adore that Being, whose 
hand rescues the unfortunate — whose vengeance pur- 
sues the guilty. 

[Louise and Charles kneel at Clauson'' s feel— -he raises 
his hands and eyes to heaven— Zyrtillo on one side, 
Romano and Idenberg on the other — a Picture. — 
Music. — The curtain falls. 






LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 




014 490 521 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





014 490 5210 ^ 



